


Five Feet Apart

by trill_gutterbug



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: (sort of), Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sex Toys, Sharing a Fleshlight, Y'know......... as friends do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug
Summary: Brad takes advantage of an assignment to private quarters on base to buy himself a toy. Ray takes advantage of everything else.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Ray Person
Comments: 26
Kudos: 140





	Five Feet Apart

**Author's Note:**

> You dirty birds know what you're getting into with this one, don't look at me.

The first thing Brad did in his temporary private quarters was take a shower. The bathroom was barely big enough to turn around in, but the water was hot and, more importantly, all his. The last time he’d gotten a wash without someone bitching for their turn was a hazy memory. He even had the added luxury of separate products for hair and body, although he’d bought them both at the commissary and they smelled identically like laundry soap.

The second thing he did was plug in his laptop, connect to the base internet via the ethernet cable he’d clocked instantly when Sergeant Toro unlocked the door for him, and open a website he hadn’t had opportunity to frequent since last time he had a Stateside address. He checked his watch as the homescreen laboriously loaded. It was shortly after lunch - rush hour for the base’s internet traffic with all the senior brass and office staff getting back to work. An offensively pink banner cascaded from the top of the screen, pixelating halfway through the upper quadrant of the word _ SALE! _

“Come on, come on,” he muttered, tapping the edge of the keyboard. He had formation in ten minutes.

At last, the bank of links on the left of the page filled in. He clicked through. He didn’t have time to peruse all the options, but at this point, beggars couldn’t be choosers. He skipped the first two candidates on the basis of hideous color and grotesque shape respectively, but the third one looked decent enough. He dug through his seabag for his wallet, then dug through that for his credit card. He had a minute and a half to spare by the time the final payment screen finished loading, and he almost forgot to fill in his address as c/o Camp Pendleton before clicking ‘Expedited One-Day Shipping.’

_ Thank you! _ the next screen said, as he scrambled to tuck his shirt and tie his boots, one hand already on the doorknob. _ Your purchase is on its way! _

~*~

“God bless the great American postal service,” Brad said the next day, grinning as a corporal handed him a discreet cardboard box.

The corporal said, “Next!” to the guy in line behind Brad.

Brad headed for his quarters.

It had been the sort of windfall impossible to plan for; a serendipitous confluence of variables - an influx of grunts back early from a training exercise, paired with a spontaneous uptick in senior officer transfers and deployments - that resulted in Brad and a handful of other NCOs getting shuffled into empty officer’s quarters for a couple days to free up barracks space. He’d been treated to a chorus of boos and protesting groans from the platoon when Sergeant Toro came to fetch him from barracks.

“Perks of being a white man,” Poke had said, pursing his lips, shaking his head.

“Kiss-ass,” muttered Lovell fondly.

“Enjoy your solitude, brother!” Rudy piped up cheerily from the back of the room.

“Are you _ fucking _kidding me!” shouted Ray.

Brad nodded professionally as Toro told him the news, swung his still-packed seabag onto his shoulder, and followed him to the door. On his way through, he’d turned back just in time to flip everyone the double bird. A barrage of dirty socks, rolled up magazines, and curses chased him out into the hallway.

It was weird to be by himself, officially, with a closed door. He was so accustomed to the door being imaginary, a mental stopgap between his brain and the exhausting chaos of two dozen loud, obnoxious guys, that the formality of it now was almost uncomfortable. He kept hearing phantom voices and opening his mouth to speak to people who weren’t in their usual place at his elbow. But the perks were beyond compare.

He threw the box on the bed, latched the door, and yanked his bootlaces open. He was nearly giddy with anticipation, already starting to get hard in his fatigues just at the thought. He’d restrained himself from jerking off last night, despite the indulgence of a mattress, solitude, and a late 6am reveille. He was going to do this shit right.

The box was so well taped he had to dig his leatherman out of his discarded pants to cut it open. Inside, under a thin envelope of bubble wrap and an ominously misspelled flier, was the fruit of his patience. He lifted out the pocket pussy like a holy article. It was good sized, made of clear plastic, a proper fleshlight with a cap at one end and soft silicone at the other. On the website, there had been options for the opening to be shaped like a mouth, a pussy, or an asshole, but he’d gone with a generic smooth hole because it was the default setting and he’d been in a hurry. He fished around in the box and found the bottle of lube he’d remembered at the last second to add to the order.

“You and me,” he told the fleshlight, slapping the weight of it into his palm. “Date night.”

There was only one pillow, but he propped it against the wall at the head of the bed and leaned on it, stretching out his bare legs. The room was warm and quiet. He craned off the bed and stuck an arm into his seabag to find the magazine stashed at the bottom, a Playboy he’d picked up at one of the base convenience stores yesterday. It was still wrapped in its morally protective plastic, which he peeled away with his teeth. The centerfold model wasn’t quite his type, but after seven weeks of deployment, an appropriately shaped parking meter was just about his type. He kicked his underwear to the bottom of the bed and pushed his wrist between his legs, still holding the fleshlight. It smacked, cold, into his thigh, but his cock jerked up undeterred against his arm. It took a minute of fumbling to get things situated, the magazine open on his lap, the lube uncapped and doused in the relevant places, his slippery hand wiped off on his shirt, the fleshlight oriented in the right direction. Finally he rubbed the opening of it over the head of his cock, and, well. Fuck. It was like the first time he’d ever jacked off to porn, feverishly overeager and oversensitive. Even the cold lube was exhilarating. His toes curled, hips rising. A shaky little breath whooshed out of him. He always had a propensity to run his mouth when he got some, and being alone with something wet on his dick apparently ticked enough mental boxes to count.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “fuck yeah,” as the tight opening slipped halfway over the head of his cock, then popped back off. He didn’t like teasing himself usually, but his nerves were so lit up that jumping right in felt like it might damage something. It took another three passes before he let the whole head of his cock dip inside, and he had to stop there for a second, groaning. His cock twitched toward his belly, an opaque blur through the silicone. Slowly, he eased the pocket pussy farther down, in little starts, until the rubber butted against the base of his balls. It was a good fit, snug, with just enough give to accept the curve of his dick. He slid it partway back up, bit the inside of his cheek, and pushed it down again. His hips jerked helplessly in counterpoint.

“Jesus,” he muttered. His face was hot, the pulse beating hard in his throat. His vision was tunneling. The magazine lay forgotten on his thigh. “That’s really -” He broke off, swallowing. He was going to come a lot sooner than he’d expected, even considering the lengthy dry spell he’d just undergone. Well, if he got this one out of the way fast enough, maybe he’d recover sufficiently after a shower and chow to go again. He let his head tip back against the wall, sliding his free hand along his bare thigh, anchoring himself. Twisting his wrist, he gave himself a couple more careful pumps to find the right rhythm. Steady, a quick motion that made him squirm, the muscles in his stomach and ass locking, relaxing, locking again. His balls started to prickle, drawing tight.

Someone banged on the door, hollered, “Brad, you home?” and before Brad could so much as catch his breath to yell _ Fuck off, _the door flew open and Ray stood there, grinning.

A number of things occurred to Brad in slow motion succession. One, that he had forgotten to lock the door. Two, that Ray had asked him earlier what room he was in and, distracted by the beef teriyaki they’d been served for lunch, Brad had stupidly told him. Three, there was no possible way to hide what he was doing, even if he’d been able to somehow yank the regulation-tucked sheets over himself in the blink of an eye. Four, that Ray was just standing there gaping, like a dumbfounded barnyard animal, with a dawning look of shock on his face.

The moment stretched and stretched, growing increasingly appalling.

“_Ray!_” Brad finally snapped.

“Shit!” yelped Ray and, instead of doing the only decent thing possible and beating a judicious retreat, he leapt into the room and slammed the door behind himself.

“What the fuck!” Brad demanded, starting to lurch up in a late attempt at self defense. But there was nowhere to go, and he aborted, dropping back down.

“Sorry!” said Ray, raising his hands. “Sorry, sorry, there’s a bunch of officers right behind me, I didn’t want -”

Sure enough, a tramp of boots and voices swelled in the hallway, just outside the door. Silently, Brad and Ray stared at one another until they passed.

“Ray…” Brad said between his teeth.

Ray started giggling. It was the hysterical, nervous giggle Brad was all too familiar with, the one he broke out after a firefight, or when an officer was bearing down on him with murder in their eyes.

“Holy _ shit, _homes, are you fucking kidding me?” he squeaked. His eyes were enormous and locked on the tableau of things happening between Brad’s spread thighs. Brad’s kneejerk reaction was to yank the pocket pussy off himself, except that suddenly it felt like the last and only barrier before total indecency. It wasn’t nudity he was leery of, God knew, or even being caught masturbating, which was hilariously far down the list of embarrassing things he’d done in front of fellow marines. There was some other element raising all the hair on his body. The closed door, maybe. How his erection hadn’t even considered flagging. The exact way Ray’s gaze was pinning him.

“No, I’m really goddamn not,” Brad said. His hand, the one not curled around the base of the fleshlight, knotted in the blanket by his hip.

“Is that a fucking _ pocket pussy_?” Ray’s voice cracked. “Oh, my god. Dude.” Horribly, heinously, he took a step forward.

“Ray!” Brad said again, sharper.

Ray stopped, obedient to that tone, but he was still staring. “I’ve never even _ seen _one of those in real life, where’d you get it?”

Brad’s voice caught in his throat. “I…” he said. His heart was hammering. “I ordered it online.”

“Wow.” Ray shook his head. “What a world, huh?”

Something in the universe cracked, shifted, and resolidified. Somewhere distant, a fundamental force of nature shrugged. Brad, operating suddenly in that liminal space available only to deep sea divers under intense ocean pressure and recon marines about to make bad life decisions, relaxed against his pillow.

“You want to give it a try?” his mouth said.

Ray’s gaze finally broke. His eyes shot up to Brad’s. Brad made his expression very blank.

“Uhhh." Ray's tone said _ what the fuck, _but Brad didn’t miss the way his hand twitched toward the button of his pants.

Brad shifted, pulling one leg out of the way. He remembered the magazine, and tossed it flat on the bed between his knees, open to a full spread of red-headed Lacey reclining naked over a mountain bike. “Come here.”

Another moment of hesitation, then Ray obeyed that order too. He kneeled on the edge of the mattress, his fingers drifting in the direction of his fly.

Brad snorted. “Don’t be a pussy, get over here.”

Ray’s eyes darted between Brad’s face, his cock, the magazine, and back again. He shuffled closer on his knees, until he was right between Brad’s legs, a healthy few inches of distance between them. There was a weird look on his face, like all the giddy bravado that had gotten him this far was abruptly eluding him. “Nice,” he said, grimacing at the photo.

Brad wanted to laugh, but he had a bad feeling that if he did, it would come out the same nervous giggle as Ray’s. He gestured at Ray’s fatigues. “Don’t you have any goddamn idea how jerking off works?”

Ray’s eyebrows dipped. His jaw set. “Fuck off.” He yanked open his pants, just enough to shimmy them down his thighs. He was hard under his boxers.

Brad’s hand gave the fleshflight an involuntary little turn, reminding him he’d been right on the verge of coming before being interrupted. It was still there, that inevitable potential, throbbing in the head and base of his cock, tingling in his balls and ass. It wouldn’t take a lot, even now.

Ray hooked his thumbs in the elastic of his boxers and peeled them down. Unfortunately, Brad was familiar with Ray’s dick in all kinds of states, but he’d always been careful not to retain any detailed memories. It was almost new, seeing it like this, smallish and pointing straight up, pink, uncut, emerging from an overgrowth of dark pubic hair. Ray pulled it away from his body with his thumb, letting it slap back. “I am hard _ up,_” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” said Brad, stupidly. He braced himself to pull the pocket pussy off his cock. It felt so goddamn good, squeezing him the whole way up, that he instinctively hunched after it, chasing the sensation. The air was cold on his dick, which was slick with lube and precome. He curled his left hand around it, holding out the fleshlight with the other. “Here.”

Ray took it. His palm was hot where it touched Brad’s fingers. “Damn,” he said. “It’s heavier than I thought.” He turned it around, looking at the wet entrance. “You want me to just…”

Brad swallowed his protest that he didn’t_ want _Ray to do anything, that this was all beyond his control or interest. He reached out and slipped his thumb into the opening, tugging it wider, like maybe Ray hadn’t noticed it. “Go for it,” he said. His voice surprised him with its steadiness.

Ray did as he was told. He always did, more or less. He fit the silicone against the head of his cock, uncoordinated with how slick it was, and pushed it down. Immediately, his head dropped back. “Oh, shit,” he breathed.

“I know,” Brad said. He pushed himself onto one hand to get closer, to watch Ray’s cock disappear inside, showing through the plastic in a flesh-colored distortion.

“Jesus, that’s...” It was funny, sort of, how speechless Ray was. Ironic, really.

“Take it slow,” Brad instructed, as though he hadn’t been about to go off like a two pump chump just before Ray barged in.

“Benefits of being a fucking NCO, huh, getting a taste of the high life?” There was a bit of tenacity back in Ray’s tone. “Is this what officers do all day, just jerk off in their private rooms with mail-delivery sex toys? Is there a tax exemption if you buy this shit military issue?”

“We already knew that,” said Brad, answering only part of the question.

Ray laughed. Breathless. His rhythm was stuttery, too fast, then too slow, clumsy. “You’d think they wouldn’t be such assholes all the time.”

“You’d think,” said Brad, but he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t thinking much, either. He lifted his hand and wrapped it around Ray’s wrist, around the shaft of the fleshlight. “Here, like this.”

Ray made a noise in his throat that made Brad’s stomach, in turn, do something crazy. Ray's wrist was warm under Brad’s, the tendons working. Brad slowed him down, took over the pace. Threw in a little corkscrew on the upstroke. Ray’s hips juddered forward, then back. His thighs shook. “_Fuck,_” he whispered.

“Good?” said Brad. His mouth was contemplating running away without him. Compensating, in some strange way, for Ray’s uncharacteristic reticence.

Ray nodded. He swayed forward like his muscles were jello, catching himself with an open palm on the bed, braced over Brad’s bare thigh. His face was so close to Brad’s, Brad could feel the hot puff of breath on the side of his neck. The abandoned magazine crinkled beneath Ray’s knees.

“Yeah, there you go,” Brad said, as Ray started humping into the stroke of the pocket pussy, the curve of his back beneath his t-shirt bunching and straightening by turns. “Feels fucking good, doesn’t it? It’s so tight in there, it’s like getting sucked off.”

Ray gasped. The bare nape of his neck was beading with sweat. Brad could smell it, the mingled flavors of them both, beneath that generic laundry soap stink. The salty tang of armpits and dick. Not dirty, but warm and fresh, like they’d just gone out on PT after a morning shower.

“Sometimes your cock bottoms out in it,” Brad murmured, remembering the little impact on the head of his dick that had shot a cramp of painful pleasure into his balls.

Ray laughed. It came out strangled. “Maybe yours does.”

Brad grinned. He squeezed Ray’s wrist, speeding up their motion. “Someday, if you eat your Wheaties…”

A choked sound came from Ray’s mouth, half-giggle, half-moan. The way he was bent over, his shoulders blocking Brad’s view, he must have been staring right down at Brad’s dick. It reminded Brad that he had two hands, and that one of them was unoccupied. He gave himself a couple tugs. It was weird, like trying to pat his head and rub his belly at the same time.

Ray’s back starting heaving, his breath accelerating. “Brad,” he said. “I’m - ah, fuck.”

“Already?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ray panted. His fisted hand dragged the blanket out of its rumpled regulation folds. “I’m - I can’t -”

Brad made their hands slow down. Ray’s wrist twisted under his fingers, trying to get back up to speed, but Brad felt like being an asshole for just a second more, and resisted.

“Come on, I’m being good,” Ray whined. His head turned, pressing his cheek into his own shoulder so Brad could see the bright red crest of it beneath his tan.

It was goofy, just an obvious joke, but there was an edge to it. A genuine hunger. Brad heard it, didn’t think about it, just felt it knot in his guts, in the rigid flex of his cock in his hand. “Alright, fine,” he said, like it was all a terrible inconvenience. He let them speed back up.

“Oh, my God.” Ray’s voice cracked. His breathing stopped, started, drew in high and burst out in a rush. His whole body visibly seized, like a fist. His hand stuttered, but Brad’s didn’t. He kept the pace, banging the pocket pussy up and down Ray’s cock. He felt it throb, pulsing so hard it twitched the fleshlight. He had to let go of his own cock, his reflexes too confused, and his free hand lifted of its own accord to grab the back of Ray’s neck, dragging him in so his face was buried against Brad’s shirt. His chest muffled the sob of Ray’s orgasm.

“Fuck,” Brad whispered over Ray’s bent head. His arm was moving like a piston. He kept going until finally Ray struggled upright, panting, and pushed his hand away.

“Stop, stop,” he gasped, falling back on his haunches, onto one elbow. He held the fleshlight gingerly, between shaking fingers. His open fatigues flapped around his thighs. His face was beet red, streaked with wet. His teeth chattered.

Brad lurched after him, pulled Ray’s trembling hand off the fleshflight, and tugged the fleshlight off his softening cock. It came free with a nasty slurping noise, which Ray mirrored with a helpless whimper. Brad brought the dripping thing right to his own lap, tipped it so Ray’s jizz pooled at the opening, and fed his cock into it. It was so hot inside, messy with spunk and lube, his brain almost shorted out. He groaned, too loud.

“Jesus Christ, Brad,” Ray was saying, his voice cracking. “Jesus Christ.”

It only took a dozen fast pumps before Brad was ready, his cock straining into the pocket pussy’s thick slick, his balls wet where it leaked around the base.

“I’m gonna,” he gritted between his teeth. “I’m gonna -”

Ray watched him, silent, his chest heaving. Brad’s eyes skittered across him, the t-shirt with the damp crescents under the pits, the bare flash of pale belly bisected by dark hair, the slick curve of half-soft cock with Ray’s hand still hovering protectively overtop.

“Fuck this,” Brad gasped, and came. He screwed the pocket pussy down on himself, so deep his cockhead hit the end, and that hurt, but it felt good too. His vision went white, then black. He shot off so many times he couldn’t keep track, just hitched his hips up again and again, chasing bliss. Too much, ultimately. It was like a whole body cramp when he was finished, sore and tight. He had to force himself to remember his body in stages, relaxing carefully so he didn’t hurt anything. He opened his eyes last.

Ray was still lying there, staring at him. So they both lay there, staring at each other. Brad’s pulse roared in his ears. One of Ray’s hands was on his ankle, not holding, just resting. Finally, Brad’s cock softened enough that he could ease the fleshlight off. Even that hurt, too sensitive. A gush of jizz poured out, all over his balls and the bed. “Shit,” he muttered. The damage was done, so he tossed it aside, letting it leak on the blanket. His head fell back onto the wall. His lips and tongue felt parched.

“I’m…” said Ray slowly. He twitched all over, like a faulty robot, twice, before he managed to slither off the bed, holding his fatigues delicately shut around his tender looking dick. “I’m going to use your shower.”

Brad nodded. There were no words anywhere in his brain.

Ray went into the bathroom and shut the door. A minute later, the sound of running water. Brad slid down the mattress, until his head was on the crumpled pillow. He’d just shut his eyes for a minute, just to recuperate, and then he’d…. Then he’d…

~*~

Brad’s plan, in the beginning, had been to chuck the fleshlight in one of the trash cans in the main barracks bathrooms whenever he got assigned back to general infantry quarters. A neat, victimless solution to a weekend of fun. Ray’s plan, which Brad didn’t discover until much too late, had a more sinister bent.

“What the fuck do you want it for?” Brad demanded, holding the pocket pussy out of Ray’s reach. “You can’t use it in barracks, you’ll get NJP’d.”

“I’m not gonna!” Ray protested, rising on his tiptoes, trying to leap for it. Brad held him back with one hand. “I’ve got an idea, just trust me. Come on, buddy, you can trust me.” He smiled winningly, but ruined it with a) his face, and b) another scrabble at Brad’s raised arm.

Brad scowled down at him. “I was born in 1974, not yesterday, Ray.”

Ray paused. “Jesus, you were born in 1974? No wonder you’re so haggard.”

Brad rolled his eyes. Ray was full of energy today, vital and hyperactive after their morning session of _ mutual humanitarian aid_, as he’d started calling it. _ Final _ morning session, as it turned out, since Brad had gotten the warning order to pack up and be back in barracks by lunch. Some lucky fucking officer was going to move in, probably with his own stash of masturbatory devices and all the privacy in the world to make use of them. Brad _ still _hadn’t managed to experience that particular luxury.

Ray grabbed at his wrist again. He was grinning, bright-eyed, somehow looking relaxed despite the mania of his attacks on Brad’s person and dignity. Earlier, when he’d appeared in Brad’s room unannounced but not unexpected, he’d shucked off his fatigues and paraded around the room with the fleshlight tucked backwards between his thighs, waggling his ass absurdly and announcing, “Me so horny, me love you long time!” which had been all fun and games until Brad took him up on it. Facedown on the mattress, ass tipped up, Brad had made him keep the pocket pussy clenched between his thighs, and fucked it so thoroughly Ray barely had the coordination to jerk himself off at the same time.

Brad looked at the fleshlight. They always rinsed it out, between, but God, was it defiled. He mentally absolved himself of guilt and dropped it into Ray’s eager hands.

“I accept no responsibility for this,” he said, as Ray cackled. “If you do something stupid, I’ve never met you.”

“Deal,” said Ray.

Brad kicked him out a few minutes later, the pocket pussy concealed beneath his jacket. Ray threw a wink at him over his shoulder on the way, and Brad rolled his eyes. He saved his smile for after the door was shut.

Two days later, at inspection, when Sixta pulled open Trombley’s locker, there was an entire four seconds of stunned silence before the rafters shook with his bellow of outrage.


End file.
